Clubbing in Singapore

Sounds fancy, doesn't it? I can now cross it off my list of things to do in life. And it was pretty bizzare.

Let's get right to the meat of it. The last club we went to had an entertainment act called "Double Penetration" - a dance team consisting of a skinny Asian dude and a fat white guy. They danced around on stage in a variety of spandex outfits that revealed waaaaaay too much. They were, however, surprisingly good dancers. The chubby white dude even, at one point, strapped on a pair of old school roller skates and busted out some fancy moves. He did some nice backwards crossovers (not easy on such a small stage) and at one point did the Running Man. On roller skates. A whacked out DJ who looked like Crazy George from the old A's games provided the music. He also had a penchant for gold spandex, and, unfortunately, at the end of the show, a thong.

(This is perhaps the first time in modern history a paragraph containing "double penetration", "strapped", and "thong" remained PG-13.)

After their show ended the real dancing began. A new DJ took over, spinning earsplittingly badass beats and looking disturbingly similar to Jesse Goffin. Only 1 of my 3 readers will know who that is.

We stayed out until 4am. I'm amazed that there are no "club drugs" here, as the crowd was still pretty lively when we left. I'm only assuming the lack of drugs given as I just read about a Nigerian whose death sentence was carried through in January for 700g of morphine.

Working backwards, we ate dinner first at a wine bar along the river walk called The Wine Garage. Really, was "The Wine Hardware Store" name already taken? Regardless, they had good food, and I drank a LOT of wine. I don't remember the last time I drank that much wine. The servers kept coming by and refilling glasses making it nearly impossible to keep track of how much I'd consumed. Always trouble. Especially with such a delicious pinot.

At the Wine Smog Check Station I met many of Dave's friends, all ex-patriots, or "expats". In the past, whenever I'd heard of an "expat" I'd pictured some 50 year old white guy with a 16 year old Vietnamese girlfriend, sweating in the back of some smoky bar in Saigon, doing his best to keep a low profile and probably on the run because he accidentally killed a man during a flashback in 1978. Not the cute 24 year old girl from New York having the time of her life and the rest of the very attractive people in their late 20s and 30s eating, drinking, and heading out to the clubs.

Near 3am some crazy looking local type began forcing his way into our little group of dancers consisting of Dave, me, 2 expat guys, Dave's friend Tamara (who is just crazy and a trouble-maker, in a good way) and 2 or 3 local girls. This guy, looking about 50 or so, appears from no where, butts his way in, and forces himself between Dave and the local girl he'd been dancing with for the last half hour. All the while he's got this crazy looking smile on his face and his awkward bobbing and shadowboxing is completely out of time with the music. Nice windbreaker, dude. My only guess is that he was tired of seeing the expats dancing with the local girls and decided to step in and finally "do something about it". At one point he actually pushed Dave out of the way, leading to one of those silent exchanges between me and Dave that went something like: "Can you believe this guy?" "He's an idiot" "Should I kick his ass?" "Whatever, man, I'm ready to leave either way". Basically this club was like any other club, aside from the crazy dance show in the beginning.

In other news, congrats to Grant and Emily Watkins on the birth of their first child.

Off to Chennai tomorrow.